


Not A Vampire

by ZombieCyborgAssassin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, First Meetings, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, My First Work in This Fandom, Not Canon Compliant, Please be gentle, Sorry Not Sorry, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:06:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21581977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombieCyborgAssassin/pseuds/ZombieCyborgAssassin
Summary: Draco Malfoy is not a Vampire.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 72
Kudos: 235
Collections: Best of DMHG





	Not A Vampire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WideTheWaters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WideTheWaters/gifts).



> Hello, this is my first HP FF, please be kind.  
> This came out far more melancholic than I was planning, but I love it anyway so here it is. 
> 
> I own none of this, I'm just playing.
> 
> If you like this, please check out my other fics, and/or check out my debut novel “Once Upon A… What?” now available!
> 
> [www.KatherineHenshaw.com](https://www.katherinehenshaw.com)

On a dark overstuffed desk, in a dark cramped office, in a twisted narrow hallway deep in the darkest shadows in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic, Hermione Granger was almost finished with fact checking the report in front of her.

With her quill hovering over her parchment, Hermione thumbed through her muggle notebook, trying to find a particular reference to her current case. As an Unspeakable, she wasn’t strictly  _ supposed to _ have any notes about her cases. But given that it was all written in her own dialect (It combined mirror image ancient Mesopotamian Cuneiform, Norse Elder Futhark runes, written in a right to left, up and down like modern Japanese, though the pages were to be turned from right to left with a few of her own pictographs thrown in for the hell of it) that only her irritating partner had ever been able to crack, her supervisor admitted that it was fine so long as each notebook was burned after each case was finished. 

She loved her job, she really did. With the exception that her partner was Draco Malfoy of all people. She thought that she’d be free of him when her eighth year (repeated seventh, technically) was completed, but alas, the blighter seemed to haunt her every step. 

A knock at her door lifted her eyes to the ghost in question, and wasn't that the truth? Aside from his near translucent appearance, he was merely a ghost of who he had once been, though he’d never managed to stop finding new ways to drive her crazy.

When he didn't say anything, she pointedly raised a brow before turning back to her notebook. “What do you want this time, Malfoy? We both know you’ve not finished recounting the incident from yesterday.” 

He ignored her question and from the corner of her eyes she watched as he leaned a shoulder against the door frame. “Are you not going to invite me in, Granger?”

Sniffing, she turned the page of her notebook and smirked, “I’m no fool, Lestat.”

His scoff was instant, “I’m  _ not _ a Vampire, Granger.”

Ignoring her surprise at his knowledge of muggle literature, or the way his eyes seemed to be flickering to her clothing and hair (as it had been all day) she gave him a sly look over, “You could have fooled me. It certainly explains a lot.”

Smirking at her, he raised a brow, “Oh?”

Putting her quill down, she began listing off as she spoke. “Pale skin.”

He rolled his eyes, “it's a Malfoy trait, Princess.”

Ignoring the mocking nickname, she went on, “Unaccounted for strength and reflexes.”

“I was a Seeker, Granger. I also still play when I get the chance.” The drawl in his voice was one she’d gotten used to, but still annoyed her.

“Never goes out into the sun,”

“We work in the Department of Mysteries, I’m fairly certain that we were banned from ever seeing it again once we signed on.” 

“Unnatural allure and or attraction of the opposite sex.”

His lips ticked up, “Are you trying to tell me that you have a crush, Princess? All you had to do was ask me to buy you a coffee.”

Narrowing her eyes at him, she pointed to the next finger, “And finally, you suck.”

Snorting, he tipped his head back and let out an unfairly manly chuckle, “I will refrain from innuendo, as I’m sure you can probably think up all the things I’d rather be sucking than blood.” 

Rolling her eyes, she dismissed his presence and went back to flipping through her notebook, only to be interrupted once again. 

“I actually came here to ask if you’d had lunch, or if you wanted me to bring you something from the cafeteria, but I think I’ll leave you to it.” 

She huffed at his exit, the way he left the door open ever so slightly, knowing it annoyed the ever living shite out of her. 

She took a solid clean deep breath and went back to focusing on her notebook. Facts and figures and measurements and solid equations were  _ far _ easier to understand than the confusing, frustrating, labyrinth that was Draco Malfoy’s… everything. 

Movement in the corner of her office had her glancing up, only to become frozen at the presence of someone she was unable to comprehend. Her eyes darted to the door where Malfoy had just left, and landed back on what looked to be his pre-Hogwarts self. 

While she quickly ran some silent, wandless diagnostic spells that she’d mastered in her job, she mentally catalogued his features, the slightly more baby fat to his cheeks than was there in their first year, the slicked back white blonde hair, the open curiosity and actual expression of emotions. 

He wasn’t  _ much _ younger that her memories of him from her first trip to Platform 9 ¾ , but as he poked his pale little admittedly cherubic face into her trinkets on her bookshelf, she would estimate him to be nine or ten years old. 

While one part of her was calculating how he got there (Broken Time Turner? Dark Curse? Cursed Time Turner? Was  _ she _ cursed?), another part of her was aching at his obvious innocence; because she knew it was gone long before it was due, all of theirs were. She ached for this boy who she knew didn’t have a chance, wasn’t allowed to have choices despite his ‘privileged’ upbringing. She stayed silent and still as this near antithesis of the man that had left her office doorway mere moments ago shook a muggle snow globe filled with kangaroos that she’d picked up the last time she was in Australia. His bright silver eyes narrowed at the stillness inside the dome, before his brows and lower lip shrugged it off. When he turned to the rest of the room, and noticed her, he froze like a deer in headlights. She will deny it if asked, but she found this boy endearing if merely for the fact that he brought out a nostalgia for simpler days when her greatest worry was making friends and dragon hatchlings. 

Seeing that he was struggling to come up with an excuse, she smiled warmly at him and slowly got up and made her way around the desk to lean against it, and extended an ink stained hand to the little boy. “Hello Mr. Malfoy, I’m Hermione Granger, how do you do?” She knew, if nothing else, Narcissa Malfoy raised a gentleman. 

Blinking, the young boy that her younger self was always at odds with took in her appearance before he then took her hand. She startled when their skin connected and his let out a low hiss, though he didn’t let her hand go. Gazing nearly luminescent silver eyes up at her, her raised her hand gently and placed a soft kiss to the knuckles.

“Mrs Granger, it truly is a pleasure.” She put his odd reaction to the back of her mind while she bit back the smirk at his terribly innocent impersonation of his father’s pomposity. It was actually quite endearing to see a young boy trying to emulate his hero if she were honest, even if the hero ended up being the villain. 

“Uh, no, just Miss,” she felt herself blush as she corrected his assumption, which made sense what with the pureblood nature of marrying women off young. 

His brows puckered and a concerned look spread across his face, but before he could say anything, she continued on. “Mr. Malfoy, I have to ask, how did you get here?”

An adorable blush erupted across his nose as he tried to keep his chin up and maintain eye contact. “I, uh, you see…”

“Its okay, Mr. Malfoy, I promise you that you aren't in trouble. I just need to know how to get you back to where, or more accurately  _ when _ you came from.” Taking in, and wanting to stall, the worry that was showing on his face, she asked, “what year is it for you?”

He swallowed thickly, before saying in a small voice, “Nineteen Ninety.”

Nodding, she smiled encouragingly and kicked out the seat in front of her desk. “Take a seat, you’re in good hands. And don't worry, I won't tell your Father a thing,” she added with a little smirk. 

The little Malfoy scoffed, “why on earth would my father care?”

She paused in her movements as she rounded her desk and pulled out a blank sheet of parchment. That was somewhat inconsistent to what she knew of this boy, was he perhaps from an alternate universe? She began listing options so that she might cross them off. 

“I imagine I got here by accidentally using magic with this,” the boys arrogant comment made her pause and look at the broach that he held in his hand. It was of a glittering all white raven and was impossibly beautiful. She looked the boy in the eye and asked him, “do you know anything about the broach at all? The more information we have, the easier it will be to send you back to your correct time.”

He narrowed his eyes, a cunning little expression flickered across his surprisingly expressive face and then a sly little smile kicked up to one side, “what year is it here then?” 

Biting the inside of her cheek, she debated stunning him to get him to hand over the broach to get a look at it. “I’m afraid I cannot tell you until I can confirm your origins.” 

“Are you betrothed then?” his question confused her and the eager look in his eye was impossible to ignore. 

Deciding to just go with it, and have him cooperating would be best, she settled back into her seat and gave the boy a small smile. “I was a few years ago, but no, no I’m not.”

His face shone with delight and he sat forward in his seat, “Excellent, I’ll speak with Mother about contacting your parents to organise a betrothal. I imagine even if I’ve travelled even ten years forward that there's still quite a wait before we could be formally wed, but if you don't mind waiting, I surely won't.” 

She stared blankly at the little boy that had just proposed to her. “Uh, you see, I am a… uh... muggleborn.”

The boy tilted his head, “I gathered that, even more reason to ask. My uncle’s a muggleborn, and he and my Aunt Andy are incredibly happy. I always wanted that happiness for myself.”

Hermione blinked at the little Malfoy who blinked back. “Wouldn't you want to fall in love with someone before you marry them?” 

His small face scrunched up in confusion. “How could I not fall in love with you? You’re obviously intelligent, and you’ve been incredibly kind to me,  _ and _ you’re almost as beautiful as my mother.” He said it all as facts and Hermione just didn’t know how to process any of this, though she was seriously beginning to think that this boy came from another universe. With exception to his appearance, the utter devotion to his mother and his pompousness, it was like he was a different child entirely. 

Needing to shake the feeling of being out of her depth, she joked, “Perhaps if I used more smoothing lotions on my hair, I’ll be able to measure up to the beauty that is Lady Malfoy.”

Malfoy’s brows drew together in anger, “No.”

She raised a brow, ‘No?”

Huffing, he lifted his chin and looked down his nose at her, even though she was sitting at least a whole head taller than him. “I gathered from your bookcase that you were intelligent, I suppose as a Muggleborn no one’s bothered to tell you.” he scratched his chin for a moment, “though, I suppose the Malfoy Library has the only collection of books on Old Magic,” he smiled at her, “you’re welcome to read them all when we’re married if you like.” Hermione stared at this little boy who obviously hasn't been told no before. “Anyway, its old magic lore, the wilder the hair, the wilder the magic. And the wilder the magic, the more powerful the witch or wizard.” he paused in thought, “besides, I like your hair, I think it’s beautiful.”

She didn't know how to respond to any of this, she was certain that this boy was from a different universe, but the more she thought about all the little inconsistencies her childhood bully had, the more she was starting to think that this child was absolutely the same boy. The only thing that would fit was... actually terribly heartbreaking. 

“I see,” she, of course, did not see at all.

He nodded matter-of-factly, “I don’t know what kind of dolt cannot see how wonderful you are, but it’s obvious you’re quite a catch. I shan't let you go now I’ve met you. May I have your parents address so that I might visit you in my own time?” 

She gazed down at this young man who was clearly very sweet, and she was afraid that the more he spoke, the more she was putting the pieces together and the more she wanted to cry.

“Well you see, Mr Malfoy-”

“Please, call me Draco, or Dragon. You’re to be my wife after all…” she swallowed trying desperately to find a different answer than the only one that seemed to fit.

She cleared her throat, “Draco, what you need to understand is that we were in the same class at Hogwarts,” his face lit up with excitement, but she held up a hand to stop him. And she realised that she needed to squash it and she knew that the words she was about to say were going to be the ones to give herself, and him, a terrible time in school, and after. 

A movement caught her eye, and she flicked her gaze to the still slightly open door and noted the single haunted dark grey eye that peered in through the crack from the other side of the corridor. She felt herself force down the bile that wanted to come up.

Gazing at the young bright happy boy in front of her, she knew she wouldn't have long with him, but she wished desperately that she could have had things differently. Was she willing to risk is life, everyone's lives, the entire Wizarding World just to keep him for herself. Sighing, she ran a hand down her face and tried to come up with an answer that wouldn’t take his innocence too soon. “You see, if you change the past as I know it, you might prevent us from even meeting like this.”

His eyes and mouth popped open, “How do I make it so I don’t change this?”

She tried really hard not to draw comparisons to what she was about to do and what Dumbledore did to Harry. She swallowed some tears and bit her lip, “you see, you and I aren't allowed to be friends because of my blood status.”

“Well that’s a bunch of tripe!” the outrage made his cheeks red like when he’d been out in the snow during their first year. 

She stares at the small patch of desk she can see through the piles of paperwork, “yes, well… if you were to be my friend, you might change things and I cannot possibly imagine how things would be changed.” Yes she could. She had repeated nightmares in vivid detail of all the ways things could have gone wrong during the war, all the little changes that could have killed someone vital, could have changed events, allowed Voldemort the win. 

“So I cannot be friends with you?” His young sad eyes might hurt more than the haunted ones that she could feel on the side of her face. 

Her breath hitched, “Worse.” 

Young Draco bit his lip and waited for her to elaborate, and she knew in the breath before she spoke, that while she was ensuring the Wizarding World to continue on in some kind of victory against Voldemort... a guaranteed one. She also knew she was a despicable person and she didn't know if it was because of what she was about to put herself and Draco through, or that she wanted desperately to undo it all and change it.

“You need to be horrid to me.” She wanted to take the words back. She wanted to obliviate the words from him so she could tell him that he was sweet to her and they were best friends and they got along really well. But then she remembered the ones that lived - would they survive? The ones that died, would their sacrifices have been for nothing?

“You aren't telling me everything.” Shrewd silver eyed saw through her just as they always had all these years, could practically read her mind.

“Draco, I can't tell you everything,” she allowed her eyes to plead with this clever boy, wanted him to know that she was trying to protect him from losing his innocence too soon.

His thoughts and emotions ran over his face briefly, before his features settled into a look of serene determination. “Very well, I shall do this, but I will only use my words to hurt you.” he swallowed and went on, “and I will protect you from whatever it is you wont tell me about.”

“Draco, yo-” he cut her off with a raised hand.

“I was raised by Slytherin, Miss Gryffindor.” He smirked at her surprise but gazed at the photograph on her bookcase of Harry, Ron and herself. In their Gryffindor reds and golds.

He sighed in a way that was eerily reminiscent of the interaction she had with his adult self every day, and looked her in her eyes, “I will keep you safe from behind the scenes, indirectly.” She knew instantly that he had. Over and over again.

“I imagine I must be as such all the way up until this meeting happens?” His determination was evident, and it was at such a young age. She honestly couldn’t be prouder of this young man than she was right this minute. 

She nodded her head, taking in his features. 

His eyes narrowed in consideration, “So I should wait until I’ve lived up to this moment before I discuss betrothal with your parents?”

She closed her eyes, unsure if she wanted to laugh or cry. “If you still want to, of course.”

Opening her eyes to his young face seemingly memorising hers, she swallowed down the tears. “I’d have to be dead to not want to, Princess.”

He gave her a sweet smile, not a smirk, not a sneer, not a mocking laugh, and then he was gone in a sparkle of white light and was left staring at the empty chair opposite from her. 

She didn't react to the sound of the door creaking open, or closing once again. Nor did she react to the body that knelt beside her chair. She wasn’t sure she was ready to look at his face, let alone see what he might feel or think.

“I remember you tearing the page and thinking, ‘that horrid boy defacing a book,’” she felt his huff of weak laughter across her collarbone. “then later wondered why on earth you gave me that ripped page from the Magical Beasts book.” She kept her eyes on the chair where his younger self had been, trying to keep her eyesight from being obscured by tears. “I’m so sorry,” she breathed. 

“Don’t be,” he was so close his words ghosted her cheek ever so slightly.

She clenched her jaw and shook her head in denial, “this whole time, it was my own doing.”

“Hermione, no.” 

She turned her face to look him in the eye. “Why didn’t you just find someone el-” and she realised the answer as she asked the question. “-Veela.” The initial reaction to her physical touch, his glowing eyes, his blonde hair, his attractiveness. She sucked in a breath and clamped a hand over her mouth while she stared horrified into soft grey eyes. 

He reached a timid hand out to her hair, asking with his eyes for permission to touch. 

Sobbing, she grabbed his wrist with her free hand and shoved it artlessly into her haze of uncontrollable curls, absently hoping she hadn’t left any pens in there. 

His face went slack and she moaned weakly at the knowledge that she just  _ knew _ he had been wanting to do that for nearly twenty years, and buried her face into his neck and clutched his shoulders. How had he survived? Male Veela pine terribly, not eating or sleeping until they die of a lack of nutrients. Perhaps that’s why he followed her around careerwise. She felt the way his breathing became laboured and shaky and she knew that she needed to get them somewhere private to keep his nature secret. 

“Draco, we’ve gotta get you home.” she felt movement under her hands, realising that his wings were coming out, and that they were out of time.

She heard a low purring come from his chest, before a soft, “am home,” was muttered in her ear. 

She fought the urge to melt, and decided that after what she had done to him, to them, she was going to break a rule or several for him. 

While still clutching him to her, she reached into the bottom drawer of her dark overstuffed desk and pulled out her illegal emergency portkey and making sure they had everything, they disappeared leaving only white iridescent feathers floating in the dark cramped office, that could be found in a twisted narrow hallway deep in the darkest shadows in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic with her Not-A-Vampire.

**Author's Note:**

> A.K.A TL:DR - Draco is a Veela. LOL
> 
> Feedback is the breakfast of champions!  
> If you like this, subscribe, and check me out on my socials for bookish merch and links to my novel _Once Upon A… What?_
> 
> _Self-sufficient, snarky artist Tabitha and her delightfully crass best friend Scott, are transported into a magical realm by a dusty relic. They have to seek oracles and face down a dragon while trying to evade an immortal asshole to find a way home, or else be trapped there, undying, for all eternity._
> 
> [www.KatherineHenshaw.com](https://www.katherinehenshaw.com)


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